


waking up - redux

by carrionqueen (nightquill)



Category: Mass Effect
Genre: Amputation, Destroy Ending, F/M, Injury Recovery, Medical Procedures, Medical Trauma, Post-Game(s), Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Post-War, Recovery, Renegade Commander Shepard, Surgery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-06
Updated: 2015-02-06
Packaged: 2018-03-10 19:04:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,219
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3300332
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nightquill/pseuds/carrionqueen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>elisabeth shepard had pressed the red button. several times. with bullets</p><p>rewrite of <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/719136">this</a>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	waking up - redux

liz wakes to the beep of heart monitors and the weird nerve-pinch feeling of an IV drip in her left arm. she can't see. she can't actually do anything, but her ears are working. that, and the absolute sensory overload of pain that's screaming through her system - touch and sound seem to be the only two senses that are working. she's conscious for long enough to hear miranda snapping orders and the quiet rumple of tarpaulin in the breeze - they're still in the field? liz was probably too fragile to move. makes sense, given the level of pain she's experiencing. when the grey fuzz comes into her head she welcomes it.

\--

"if i see _any_ media personnel around here, hackett, i'll shoot them myself. this has to stay under wraps. if we fail..."

 _do you know what that would do to morale?_ elisabeth finished miranda's sentence in her head. she's right. she's always right, of course, and liz has no idea if she'll live or if she'll die. there's enough brain activity for her to hope for the best. it's surprisingly coherent. she can string complex thoughts together. by the feel of things, her brain's fine. which speaks volums. but her body... she knows it's broken. she still can't do anything but feel, and hear. but she's heard enough to know it's not looking great.

she hears the static fritz as miranda hangs up on the admiral - sounds like a QEC device; they must have those, at least. liz is itching to know the extent of the damage. she needs a sitrep. she needs debriefing. she wants to scream but so much of her just _doesn't work_  and --

"we need to look at getting her cardiovascular system linked back into her actual body, and soon. it's thriving but we need to look at reintegration as soon as it's possible." a third voice. salarian. so, her translator's still in, and functioning. maybe it's a new one. 

"you're right. but until we've got somewhere to put them..." 

the salarian interrupts. "... miranda."

everyone is silent. medical blips still ping throughout the room, a couple of other machines whirring quietly. she hears the push-pull panting of a machine that she supposes is some kind of respirator. she's still wondering what they mean when they say there's nowhere to put her heart and lungs. the silence is filled with fluro light tubes flickering. 

"... yes. i can see that. do you think she's conscious?" _maybe she's reading the brain-scans?_

"well she sure as hell can't move."

liz feels miranda's breath by her ear. a strange sensation - perhaps it's just the sound that she feels, rather than the breath, it's hard to tell at this point - and the woman speaks. 

"if you're.... if you're awake, liz. hang on. i've got you."

\--

she slips in and out, the conscious moments a mix of terror and frustration, the unconscious ones full of technicoloured, drug-fuelled dreams of the crucible and earth and virmire and garrus. _garrus._ shit. he'd better be alive. she feels heat, then quick cold on her eyes - tears, probably, coming of their own accord. it's been days but she's not the best at keeping time. a rubber-coated finger wipes the water away. 

"shepard. we've been monitoring you and our tests show you can hear us, so, i'd like to try something." the salarian again. _it must be mordin_ , she thinks briefly, but that thought flickers and dies in her chest like a moth hitting a flame. "shepard, i'd like you to try opening your eyes."

liz is startled by the request. she can't move anything, surely it's way too soon -- but the moment she's aware of her eyes, her lids begin to flicker. she keeps them shut. it's going to hurt, she tells herself, but with a soft grunt - voice! - she slides her eyes open. 

the room is dimly lit, a low, orange glow. it hurts, but not as badly as she'd thought. she blinks once, twice, takes a breath - it's like the first she's ever had. she sucks in the cool, sterile air like she's drowning and she can hear her heart-monitor beeping faster with each breath. 

"okay. okay slow down, now. one thing at a time, shepard."

"she's awake?" 

it's miranda's voice and liz starts to cry again. not sobs, nothing so intensive, but tears are streaming down her face, leaving hot-but-swiftly-cooling trails right down to her chin. the salarian mops them up with a square of paper. she can't move, not yet, but her eyes can - she glances around the room until they settle on the woman's dark hair, on her fair face, on that bloody cerberus uniform she never could ditch - though, liz notices, the patch has been torn off and in its place is the normandy's 'SR2'. 

"miri," elisabeth rasps out and it's more a wheeze than a name but miranda recognises her nickname instantly. she comes close, bends low, presses a kiss to liz's forehead. "miri," she tries again. the salarian is dithering and asking her to take it slowly. liz doesn't know how she could _be_ any slower, given that her body won't move anything beyond her face. 

"try to take it easy, shepard," miranda says soothingly, perching on the edge of the table. it's sure as hell not a bed, as she's slowly becoming aware. everything smells like rubbing alcohol and tank oxygen. even miranda. "i hate to do this to you again, but we're... well, we lost a lot of tech when the citadel went down. you... kind of took out all the mass relays."

liz wants to laugh - _of course she did_  - but her body won't let her yet. she has a disturbing feeling that there's no diaphragm, no vacuum in her chest cavity, that her body can't laugh or sob because she's still in fucking pieces on the operating table, that she's a cadaver and this is all a sick dream -- her heart-rate spikes again, the machine beeping angrily. miranda lays her hands either side of elisabeth's face and stares her dead in the eyes.

"you're okay, elisabeth. you'll be okay. i promise. i need you to go back to sleep for a little while though. please trust me, liz. i'm sorry."

liz feels the sedative ease into her system through the IV drip and her heart-rate slows and her breath is normal, again. as she inhales, slowly, as her eyes fuzz with static - _static?_ \- she realises she must be intact. she couldn't breathe without a diaphragm. _silly girl. remember your lessons._ her mother's voice is quiet. the room fades from orange to grey. 

\--

when she wakes again she's alone and she can move. it's her head rolling to one side that jerks her into consciousness - she stares at the wall to her right for a while before she realises her muscles will obey her now. her stomach flutters with apprehension but when she turns her head back the other way, it obeys her. she smiles. her mouth curves - she can feel it! - and when she swallows, her throat is moistened. she feels alive for the first time since waking.

but she takes it slowly. she's not stupid, doesn't want to stress her system. it'd been a hell of a fall. she can't remember it but she can link the events logically. she's on earth, now, and she _was_  on the citadel. in low orbit. hmm. that's twice she'll have survived being spaced. briefly, she wonders if there's a galactic equivalent of the 'book of world records' that the humans used to love so much. 

she starts out with her fingers, a small twitch. her left hand is more responsive - her right, she can feel moving but it's like the tendons need warming up or something, it sticks a little. she twitches her trigger finger and it's slow. way too slow. something to work on. rehab works wonders on hand injuries, she thinks to herself, cycling quietly through images of medical books in her mind. _don't panic._   _it's okay. miranda promised._

as though on cue the woman ducks through the plastic covering the door, omnitool displaying a dozen readouts, one of which is liz's brain - she assumes - spinning in a slow circle. "miranda," she says. three words out of her mouth since she's been resurrected and they've all been iterations of the woman's name... ridiculous. she smiles as the woman looks up, deep blue eyes snapping wide. 

"the monitors -"

"calm down, i'm okay, miri." liz croaks, a crooked grin on her mouth. "i think... i think i'm gonna make it," 

miranda laughs. it's a soft flutter, a nervous thing that turns into a belly laugh in a moment. elisabeth laughs too but not quite as boldly - her chest hurts too much for that, and her belly. she coughs. there's a fritz in her voice that wasn't there before. she furrows her brow but ignores it, because miranda's sitting on the edge of the bed again, fussing over the tabs that are stuck all over her.

"i didn't know you were awake. can you move?"

liz nods. "i've been trying. just my fingers so far. my right hand is a little stiff. i can turn my head," she demonstrates, and miranda nods thoughtfully. "but i haven't tried much else. should i?"

"not yet. hey, liz," 

her voice is shaking and liz can't stand that. miranda's not allowed to cry. it's forbidden. she moves her arm - it's heavier than she remembers - and sets it on miri's leg. "it's okay, miranda.

"no, you. you have to listen to me for a second, shepard."

"shepard, hey? you're bringing out the big guns, i see," liz quips but miranda's eyes are serious. more so than usual. more so than ever. she bites her lip. 

"you're not. we... shepard, we were really hindered in your reconstruction this time. all the data we lost on the cerberus station. the mass relays down. not to mention we're obviously prioritizing rebuilding as much of london as we can and searching for survivors. between hackett and i... well, i think it's safe to say we've both used up all the favors owed to us to get this facility online. we're about two klicks out of the impact crater and there's a media buffer of maybe ten more on top of that. no one knows what we're doing in here." 

liz nods. she's rambling. that's not like miranda. it must be bad. "okay," she prompts, and miranda swallows. hard. _shit._

"listen, liz. you... we've had to amputate." elisabeth immediately moves her toes, immediately tries to kick her feet. the sheets rumple as she does so. miranda clamps a hand down on her ankles. " _stop_ , liz, just listen to me. you lost both legs and both arms. you still have your left arm down to the elbow but we had to remove the shoulder joint on your right arm."

"but that's bullshit," liz grins. her head is a little fuzzy - phantom limbs are one thing but her legs - her arms! - are moving. she can _feel_  things with them. "my arms..."

when she looks down though her stomach does a little flip and miranda starts dialing on her omnitool. two soldiers come into the room - elisabeth realises she can almost see her reflection in the metal of her right arm. she glances to her left - the seam where her lower arm meets her real flesh, at the elbow, is still red and puffy, a few scabs. liz understands, then, that the soldiers are here to hold her down. miranda knows her too well. her stomach flips again.

"miranda, why are my arms..." she breathes, slowly, _one, two, three_ \- she won't panic. no. she's been doing _so well._ she has no need to panic because she's _alive_  and miranda _promised_ , and it's okay, really, these are just temporary, or, something, right? right? she realises she's not speaking out loud, anymore, but doesn't make any attempt to fix it. she fixes miranda with a look then jams her eyes shut. no. no, this isn't right, none of this is _right --_

"you can go. it's okay. liz, i'm so sorry," miranda murmurs, and liz can hear the boots stomp out of the room. "it'll take time, but you'll be okay. i know you will. i promised and i'm not going to let you down."

liz wants to thank her but she doesn't know if she can.

\--

she can barely walk without feeling sick to the stomach. the legs aren't hers. one's joined at the hip, a metal socket constructed to house a metal limb, and the other fuses at the knee. all her major joints are metal now, except for her hip and shoulder on the left side. she's asked, a couple of times actually, how much of her insides are real, how many of her organs are her own. miranda gives her vague answers and promises more after the psych eval but both of them know she's going to fail.

but liz has kept distracted. everyone's alive - well, not everyone. _everyone_  is dead. anderson's body hasn't been recovered. thane gave himself for the sake of the fucking council - that's the worst trade since swapping mordin out for the krogan. _ugh okay that's not fair._ liz chews her lip and forces herself to think about something else. like, the living. ash, tali, _garrus._  everyone's alive. even javik, much to his apparent displeasure. miranda made her swear not to contact them - media lockdown, and all - but she snuck a message out to liara. someone has to know.

so she's not entirely surprised when she wakes to the sound of flanged turian yelling and miranda putting on her best diplomat voice. she's moved to a bed, now. they still set up a drip nightly, still monitor her. occasionally, the salarian comes and holds his omnitool to her temple, causing her eyes to fuzz out with static, sometimes causing colours to switch around. when she asks, he won't tell her what he's doing, only ever says, "ms lawson's orders," and leaves. liz doesn't really mind. she probably doesn't want to know. 

and now, garrus is yelling outside her room and miranda's yelling right back.

"how long, lawson?"

"oh for christ's sake - garrus, if you don't calm down -"

"what?" he's laughing. liz struggles with her sheets, with the _fucking_  IV drip, the monitors - she rips them off, swings herself up. "what are you gonna do, shoot me?" he is egging her on, almost, and elisabeth isn't even surprised. idiot. " _how long have you had her here without telling me?_ "

"like this is all about _you_ , vakarian," elisabeth snaps. she's leaning in the doorway, clutching at it really - her legs _work,_ sure, but it's not _easy_  walking on them. she notices the metal of her new fingertips is digging into the door-frame, chipping the paint.

garrus drops his bluster immediately, a dual-toned 'oh' slipping from his mouth, and he goes to her. one hand on her elbow. the other beneath her arm, supporting her weight, lifting her up - she uses what strength she's got to slip her arms around his tiny waist. she clutches at him, synthetic skin feeling all his bumps through the shirt, her face pressed into his chest. "you selfish asshole. don't attack her for this. it's not about you. it's about morale." she mutters angrily into his torso. "get me to a chair, will you?"

he practically carries her back into the room and sets her down on the bed. it's not a chair but she's not going to pick at _that_ , not right now. he kneels on the ground before her. "elisabeth," he's _whispering_  her bloody voice like she's some kind of vision and she doesn't have time for that level of reverence. she arranges herself, rocks forward, kisses his mouth. hungrily. he's gripping her shoulders so tightly it hurts but pain is good, pain is feeling. pain is real. 

"i'm sorry," he rasps when she finally lets him go. "you're right - that was. selfish. and lame," 

"so lame." she smirks, unable to meet his eyes. her heart is hammering in her chest like a fucking gattling gun and she didn't realise until now just how terrified she'd been of seeing him again. what if... what if he'd hated her? what if her new body was as repulsive to him as it was to her? she touches his hands, pulls them into her own. she can't feel details, yet. the warmth and the texture of his skin is lost on her. but she feels the pressure as he squeezes them and she squeezes back. "i'm glad you're here."

"so am i." 

they sit for a while in silence but it's not long before garrus is regaling her with tales of her funeral. her _second_  funeral, he adds, eyes narrowing in a glare. "ashley got so drunk that vega had to carry her back to quarters. joker hasn't been sober since the citadel hit the planet," his voice takes an anxious note, quavering just slightly. "we're... they're all pretty messed up about losing you. that's... that's why i was mad at lawson. it's not just me i'm mad for."

liz studies his eyes while he studies the wall. "i'm sure she'll be ready to unveil me soon," she quips and he chuckles, low-and-high all at once. "you get it, though, don't you? she couldn't... they couldn't say i was alive, only to have me die again. or to be brain dead. they needed to be sure..."

"yeah, and how long ago was she sure?" he snaps and liz feels a spark in her gut. _that's a good question._  she loves miranda with all her heart but just how long has it been?

"she still needs a psychological evaluation, garrus. she's lost a lot, and not just _of herself_. i'm sorry you feel like i've somehow _betrayed the team_ with this but you have to understand - if she's not ready and the media get wind of this? it's going to be a lot of stress she _does not_  need." miranda's leaning in the doorway, now, brow furrowed. she's mad. liz's heart swells with endearment. _bless her._ "and i don't mean to speak for you, liz, but. it's going to be hard enough for her to adjust to her new body without the media having a fucking field day."

garrus is nodding slowly, mulling over the words. liz knows he won't forgive her outright but he can see things from that perspective - it doesn't matter, though, because then he hoists himself onto the bed next to elisabeth, wraps and arm around her waist, tilts her head with his other hand, kisses her - in that way that turians do, resting his forehead on hers - and miranda takes this as her cue to go.

"maybe she'll let you stay here while i do the whole rehab thing," liz murmurs, pressing her lips to the bridge of his nose, tracing her fingers over the scarred side of his face. "you know. since you're a potential intel leak, and all," 

"you're right. i shouldn't be allowed to leave, in fact. i'm a notorious tattle-tale when i drink. too risky to let me go unsupervised," he muses, eyes closed. he leans his cheek atop her head. "elisabeth. i'm glad you're alive."

she hums, a quiet almost-laugh. "so am i."


End file.
